


misinformation open to interpretation

by trite



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Massage, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28621593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trite/pseuds/trite
Summary: Poe hates undercover work.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Comments: 15
Kudos: 41
Collections: Hoelidays Gift Exchange 2021





	misinformation open to interpretation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UtopiaPlanitia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UtopiaPlanitia/gifts).



> Happy hoelidays! I took your prompt ( _Poe is working undercover in a spa frequented by First Order officers_ ) and ran with it. I hope you like this!

Poe hates undercover work. It’s not just that it doesn’t play to his strengths — it’s that it is tedious and uncertain. It’s a lot of waiting for possibly very little payoff. He doesn’t hate it enough not to chase a lead and that’s how he finds himself on Ephemera. It’s the most time he has ever spent on a resort planet.

They got a tip from Maz over a month ago saying that a First Order account had bought a few dozen batches of free massage coupons to a local spa. After doing some digging they discovered the account belonged to none other than Supreme Leader Kylo Ren. They didn’t know what to make of it then — and honestly, they still don’t — but if it was an opportunity for Ren to lower his guard or to catch anyone in the First Order unawares then it was worth it. That was definitely how they felt the first week after they received the intel.

Rey spent the first week undercover, then it was Kaydel’s turn — the only one of them who actually knew anything about massages — and now it was Poe’s turn. His week has been spent sitting around doing nothing but at least there’s only one more day left. He’s not used to being this inactive, feeling this useless.

He startles and puts down the datapad when the entrance door slides open with a customer for the first time that week — it really was the most rundown spa anyone could possibly pick. He waits behind the desk for a couple of seconds but no one appears.

There’s a loud, longsuffering sigh from the entrance before a First Order officer walks in in full uniform. A general, going by the stripes. Not just any general either.

“Welcome to _Trilogy_. How may we help you relax this afternoon?” Poe smiles his brightest smile and hopes he doesn’t get recognized.

Hux frowns and takes five flimsiplast sheets out of his greatcoat. “I would like to get a full refund for these.”

Poe takes them and yep, there are the gift certificates. “Okay, I will need the account number and identification of the person who bought them,” he says moving toward his datapad.

“You misunderstand me. I would like to get the credits for them myself. They were a gift from my boss,” he says venomously.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. I can only issue a refund to the person who bought them,” Poe says. He knows Hux won’t go for that but from the set of his shoulders, he won’t actually go for the massage either. It’s a shame because he looks so tightly wound that he could probably really use it.

“Could I get a refund for half its value instead?”

“No,” Poe says and shakes his head, hoping he seems firm but not unsympathetic.

“Could I get a refund in the form of an item?” Hux asks.

Poe struggles not to sigh and rub his temples. “An item?”

“That — rock,” he says, vaguely pointing toward, well, a rock that’s on the shelf behind Poe.

“Oh, that’s — our most expensive healing crystal, actually.” Poe hopes that sounds convincing.

Hux sighs. “How about—?”

“We don’t do that type of refunds,” Poe says, cutting him off. “But since these gift certificates don’t have an expiration date, you can come back another time and receive your free massage then.” Though that really is not an ideal option, either. It meant more time grounded in this place.

“I don’t want a massage,” he snaps.

“May I have them, then? Since you have no use for them, we will refund the buyer directly.” Poe doesn’t actually know that that is possible but it is probably what Hux least wants. Poe’s just baiting him.

“How long would this massage be?” he asks disdainfully.

Oh no, this is not good. “Forty minutes.”

“Could we cut that down in half?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Poe says, relieved.

Poe leads him to the actual massage room, the light purple aesthetic of the room meant to be soothing and welcoming. Poe was in here long enough to hide a couple of blasters but didn’t take enough time to familiarize himself with his surroundings.

The long, tall bed occupies the center of the room. On the far wall, there are several white shelves filled with various vials, bottles, scented creams, and liquids that Poe is mostly unfamiliar with. And finally, on the right side, there’s a door leading to a smaller room intended as a changing room.

He points Hux in that direction and goes toward one of the shelves, grabbing the first vial that smells nice. It is orange to go with its pleasant citrusy smell.

When he turns around, Hux is lying on the bed, on his front, still wearing every piece of his uniform.

“There’s a changing room—” Poe starts.

“This is fine.”

Okay, then. Poe places his hands on Hux’s shoulders and he flinches. He tries again and gets the same response. “You need to be still.”

Hux loudly breathes out and goes rigid, his muscles tense when Poe places his hands on him again.

Poe sighs. “Let me know if you want me to ease off.”

“Ease off,” he says immediately.

“Like this?” Poe asks.

“Less,” he says and repeats the word until Poe’s hands are hovering over him, not actually making contact.

Poe watches the chrono on the wall in front of him and counts down to five minutes before he thinks it’s safe to engage. Hux is at least not making panicky, loud noises anymore.

“So, that was thoughtful of your boss. You must have a very stressful job.”

“It was a joke. Like most things are with him.”

“How so?”

“He’s withholding leave unless it’s to this dreadful gas planet. I would normally be in favor since I don’t believe we need distractions right now, but I am reluctant to side with him on _any_ matter,” Hux says, openly venting.

“So you’re in the military, then,” Poe says playing up the pretty-but-dumb act.

Hux goes even more tense, which Poe genuinely didn’t think was possible, and says, “I would rather not talk.”

Poe resists the urge to tap his foot on the floor for the next unbearably awkward ten minutes and when the time is finally up, he says, “okay, we’re done.”

Hux sits up awkwardly and stares at the wall for a moment before saying, “what is your name?”

“Kade Genti,” Poe blurts out, wincing internally. There is no recognition in Hux’s eyes at the name, though. He has probably entertained himself exclusively with propaganda since he was a child.

“And are you always here? Do you work in shifts?”

“Why?” Poe asks suspiciously.

“I have four remaining certificates and I would like to make use of them.”

Poe tries to decipher the intent behind his words. It has to be a trap. Hux didn’t actually get a massage, didn’t want to, so he has no reason to come back for more. “How about we just make an appointment and I’ll make sure to be here that day?”

When Hux leaves, Poe rests his forehead on the pristine white desk and tries to ward off a headache. He doesn’t know if that went well or not.

Finn laughs at him as they have lunch in the mess. “I cannot believe you told him your name was Kade Genti.”

“This is your fault. Somehow. Your influence, at the very least,” Poe says, pointing at him from across the table. “You said those comics were non-regulation, anyway.”

“Did he not recognize you at all, though? I’m glad it wasn’t next week, he would’ve definitely recognized Rose.”

“I think he was too worked up to realize who I am.” He was _something_. Something else. _Is everyone in the First Order a ball of repression, neurosis, and issues?_ Poe wonders.

“Worked up?” Finn frowns, but Poe thinks it’s mostly directed at his caf.

“Not like — you know, he was stressed out. On edge.”

“Yep, that sounds like him.”

“What else should I expect from him?”

Finn makes a face as he takes a sip of his caf and puts it down, shrugging. “He’s a tightly-wound, ‘can’t relax’ kind of guy. He hates Kylo Ren, though. From what you tell me that has only intensified.”

“Yeah. Do you think—?” Poe starts, the beginnings of an idea forming in his head.

“What?” Finn asks, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, wanting to hear Poe’s idea even if he might not like said idea.

“Do you think he hates him enough to switch sides?” Poe asks.

He leans back. “Poe, no. He’s First Order born and bred. A true believer. It’s the only thing he knows.”

“You should hear the resentment when he talks about Kylo Ren, though. There’s something there I can use.”

Finn looks at him carefully. “Are you gonna tell General Organa about this?”

“Are you gonna tell on me if I don’t?” Poe asks.

Finn sighs. “Be careful. Or else I’ll have to,” he says regretfully. This is one of the many things he loves about Finn. He knows when a bad idea is good enough to commit to.

“Same as last time?” Poe asks Hux when he gets there.

“Oh, you remember?” Hux asks, taking off his greatcoat. Everything else in the room is some nice, light shade of pink, blue, or purple. The only splash of darkness coming from Hux.

“You’re a memorable customer,” Poe says brightly.

Hux awkwardly looks away but not before Poe sees him flush a little around his cheeks and nose. Poe groans inwardly. That’s not how he meant it.

“Has work gotten less stressful?” Poe asks when Hux lies down on the bed. Same arrangement as last time.

“For values of less stressful.”

“Meaning what?” Poe moves away from the far wall and closer to the bed, his movements deliberate so Hux doesn’t get spooked.

“Meaning someone else has been put in charge of handling most of my responsibilities.”

A demotion? Ouch. “Are you happy with that new arrangement?”

“No,” he says sounding desolate. There’s so much emotion placed on that single syllable that Poe gets the urge to reach out.

Hux flinches when Poe’s hand lands on his shoulder and he immediately takes it back. “Sorry.”

Hux breathes out shakily, and says, “it’s alright. Put it back.”

They spend the next fifteen minutes in that position; a small but loaded gesture, a caricature of human connection.

“As he says it, he’s been demoted,” Poe tells the room at large.

“Who was promoted in his place?” asks Leia.

Poe rolls his chair sideways a couple of times but stops when Leia looks at him pointedly; not quite a glare. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t say. It’s a delicate balance. I can’t push him too hard because he closes off completely.”

“Do you think you might get him to open up?”

As Leia’s gaze fixes on him, he falters momentarily. Only momentarily. “I can do it.”

He’s not gonna let them down.

“Well, we’re gonna have to work around — this,” Poe says, pointing to Hux’s everything, his entire bruised and battered look.

“That’s alright.” Hux takes off his greatcoat and hangs it by the door. His left arm is on a sling and he awkwardly maneuvers around it. Hissing when he tries to lie down and it jostles his shoulder.

“Hey, no, don’t lie down. How about you stay like this? Do you want help taking that off?”

Poe moves in front of him and reaches for the clasps by his hand and elbow, touches his arm carefully. When it’s off, he meets Hux’s eyes briefly, sees him swallow and lick his lips. Poe steps away quickly.

Hux stays sitting and hunches a little on himself. There’s an intense feeling of awkwardness in the air.

Poe moves to stand behind him, wanting to give him the illusion of privacy. Then changes his mind and decides to give him the illusion of comfort. “Can I touch your back?”

Hux agrees, but when Poe’s palm connects with the fabric of his tunic he gasps and moves away. Poe hovers his hand over his back until Hux slowly leans into his touch, exhaling deeply.

“Are you okay?” Poe asks honestly, without duplicity.

“I feel like I have wasted my entire life and my life’s work will never amount to anything,” Hux says quietly but viciously.

“That sounds rough. Maybe this place isn’t a good fit for you,” he says carefully, and then adds, “can’t you quit? Leave?”

“And do what? It’s not just my job. It’s my life. I wouldn’t know what to do or where to go.”

Poe rubs his palm up and down his back and wonders how far to push him. Fuck it, he decides. “What’s the one thing you want most?”

“To take him down.” Hux says it with the same conviction that Poe has heard him talk about crushing the Order’s enemies or bring his version of Order to the galaxy. Poe never thought he would find it reassuring.

“Your boss?”

“Yes.”

“What if you could do that? What if someone was willing to help you do that?”

“You mean the Resistance, Dameron?”

Poe freezes but Hux is not making any sudden moves. “How long have you know?”

“I recognized your voice the first time but couldn’t place it. I became certain the last time.”

“What is this, then?” Poe asks.

“I could ask you the same thing. What kind of harebrained undercover operation is this?”

 _This is what desperation looks like. Literally following any crumbs that might lead to a victory_ , Poe thinks but instead says, “if it makes you feel better, we weren’t aiming for you, specifically. We thought maybe Ren would show up.”

Hux scoffs. “Why would that make me feel better?” He makes to move off the bed, leaning on his injured arm and gritting his teeth.

“Hey, careful.” Poe moves in front of him and Hux ends up slumping gracelessly against him before angrily pushing him away. “Look, you kept coming back here alone and unarmed after you knew. What were you after?”

Poe is hoping he says that he wanted to defect or to spy for them, but what he says instead is deeply depressing.

“I enjoyed the opportunity to voice my treasonous thoughts without the threat of execution hanging over my head.” Hux fixes his gaze on Poe and calmly adds, “I know it was all manipulation on your part but that made it better. Safer. It wasn’t conditioned. You were more or less a captive audience. What were _you_ hoping to get out of this?”

“Information,” Poe says honestly, wanting to respond to him with the same kind of candor Hux exhibited. “I had this crazy plan to make you switch sides, though I wasn’t sure how to accomplish that.”

Hux hesitates. “I won’t defect but I have information and I’m willing to share it.” After a pause, he adds, “we want the same thing for once.”

Poe looks around their war room and lets the suspense build a little.

“He’s in,” he says proudly, skipping all the parts about his cover being blown or the weird, achy feeling he gets when he remembers Hux matter-of-factly discussing his own execution.

They sit side by side on the bed as they go over shipment routes, mining facilities, planned attacks and any weakness Hux perceives the Order to have.

They’ve spent more than two hours going over all the information and they’re barely skimming the surface. It’s the longest they’ve spent in this room and in each other’s company.

By the end, Poe feels exhausted in a way that goes beyond the physical. He moves his head from side to side and hears something crack.

“Maybe you’re the one who needs a massage,” says Hux.

Poe laughs, something he didn’t expect to do in Hux’s presence. “I’m actually glad you didn’t want a massage. I’m not sure I’m good at it.”

“Why did you volunteer for this mission, then?”

“Hey, be grateful you didn’t get Rey. She’d have beat you with her quarterstaff and called it a newfangled technique from Jakku.”

Hux lets out something that could’ve been a laugh if he hadn’t rushed to suppress it and says, “how would you have done it?”

There’s something loaded in the air now. Something seductive about Hux’s words. Or maybe it’s only seductive to Poe who can’t divorce himself from an edge of danger. “I don’t know. I guess I would’ve gone with what felt good.”

“To me?” There’s something like surprise in his words, buried deep under the breathless quality his voice has taken.

“Yeah, sure.” Poe hears Finn’s words in his head. _A can’t relax kind of guy_ and feels the urge to chase that challenge. “Maybe we could try it and you’ll tell me if I’m any good.”

Hux immediately shuts down. “What is this? What you’re doing now. It is unnecessary to secure my cooperation. So what exactly are you aiming for?”

“No, I—” Poe stammers. “This has nothing to do with— this isn’t business.”

“Is it pleasure, then?”

Poe swallows. “It could be.”

Hux nods to himself. “Alright. I want to do what we were doing before.”

“Which part?”

“How you stopped when I told you to.”

Poe frowns. “We don’t have to negotiate for that. Of course I’ll do that.”

“Very well. Go ahead,” Hux says, his words clipped but sure.

When Poe approaches him, he jumps back. Poe stills his hands and then takes them away.

“No, ignore that,” Hux says dismissively. “Keep going.”

Poe places each of his palms on the side of his neck, a thumb brushing over the hollow of his throat. Hux shudders and turns his head to the side, looking somewhere over Poe’s shoulder.

“Can I unbutton your—?”

“No,” he says sharply.

Poe moves his hands over his shoulders and down his arms, presses more firmly, but it’s barely a massage. Poe’s just comfortingly rubbing his arms.

Hux bats his hands away and says, “that’s enough.”

“Okay. How was it?”

“It was alright.” He moves past Poe, toward the door and says, “I’ll see you in two weeks.”

Back at the base they go through all the intel meticulously. They set up different off-world teams to reroute a weapons shipment, aid civilians in revolts, hit secret facilities where prisoners are being kept, and put together the pieces of all the places that the Order uses, discards, and leaves war-torn.

It’s a long couple of weeks but they finally feel like something is being accomplished.

“Do you think you’re being followed? Or monitored?” Poe asks him during their last meeting. The last one Hux has an excuse for. He has used all the free certificates now.

Hux frowns. “No, we have that in our favor. Ren’s focus is dispersed, never where it should be. Why?”

Poe shrugs. “We can go somewhere else.”

“Do you have a room?” The way Hux says it makes him want to take it back. He’s serious and intent and Poe maybe took his casual flirtation too far. This isn’t a game for either of them.

Poe shrugs. “Yeah, but we don’t have to go there.”

“I want us to go there.”

“Maybe going there would be a distraction, though.”

“Why bring it up at all, then?” Hux asks, offended.

“Yeah, you know what? Let’s go. It’ll be fine.”

The room they’ve been using — free of charge, courtesy of Maz — is actually not that different from the room at the spa. Every single place on this planet seems to follow the same color palette, all soft pastels, and dreamlike decor. Unlike the room at the spa, it has a wide balcony that’s almost half the size of the room and is covered with shimmery pink curtains. The setup didn’t seem romantic any other time Poe was here.

Once they’ve gone over Hux’s intel and run through their new method of communication — twelve times, plus the other dozen times he had Poe repeat the codewords, coordinates, and frequencies back to him — Poe is ready to say goodbye to this place and rush back to base. There’s too much to do.

Hux is single-minded, though. As soon as they’re done he moves from his place on the chair by the window and sits down on the bed, right next to Poe.

“It’s fine because we won’t see each other again,” he says and moves to undo the clasps of his tunic hurriedly. Like he’s against the clock and has to let his body act before he changes his mind.

Before Poe can formulate a response he’s taken off his tunic and Poe blurts out, “what is that?”

“Oh, it’s a protective vest,” he says airily.

Careful to telegraph his movements, Poe places his fingertips over the material; imagines he can feel the warmth of Hux’s skin through it. “That must be a mandatory part of the First Order uniform.”

Hux tracks the movement of his hand. He makes no move to stop him but his breathing speeds up. “Actually, the older generation doesn’t believe in wearing them. They’ll backstab to their hearts’ content but wearing a protective vest is dishonorable and cowardly.”

“That sounds like they just want easier targets.”

“Yes, that’s—” Hux swallows, his eyes going to Poe’s mouth and breathes out, “yes.”

They slant their lips together and Hux responds with less hesitation and more passion than Poe expected, something desperate coming across in the press of their lips, the brush of their tongues.

“What d’you wanna do?” Poe asks.

“What we did last time.”

Hux lies down on the bed facedown; his skin is pale but flushed, unable to hide how much he wants this.

Poe sits astride his thighs and walks his fingers across his back, to the top of his spine. His skin is soft and smooth and Poe wants to follow his fingers with his mouth and tongue and teeth. Hux was right, they won’t see each other again; a few marks won’t hurt.

He presses a hand into the space between his shoulder blades and Hux flinches but doesn’t stop him. He uses his fingers first, pressing them softly over his shoulders.

Hux is all sharp bones and coiled tension under his hands. He keeps suppressing his noises and Poe has to strain to listen for the barely-there groans and the small intakes of breath.

Poe trails his hands down Hux’s sides and he gasps loudly, harshly. He buries his face in the mattress, trying to conceal his reactions.

“Don’t silence yourself. I wanna hear you,” Poe says, carding his fingers through Hux’s hair.

Hux inhales deeply and Poe can feel some of the tension drain from him with his next exhale. He digs his thumbs on the low of his back, trails his fingers over the waistband of his pants, and then slides a fingertip between his skin and the fabric.

Hux presses against his touch and then back down on the bed grinding himself on the mattress.

Poe grips his shoulder and slides the heel of his hand down over the expanse of his back in one long arch. He repeats the motion three more times as Hux ruts against the mattress; his breath loud in the otherwise silent room.

“Lift your hips,” Poe says, trying to get his hands under him and unbutton his pants.

Hux rises a little on his knees and together they awkwardly push his pants and underwear down. He lets out a broken gasp when Poe wraps a hand around his dick and alternates between pushing forward into Poe’s palm and back where his ass brushes against Poe’s hard dick.

“Come on. Let go. I wanna see you come,” says Poe, giving in to the urge and trailing kisses down his back, biting marks into his skin and then soothing them with his lips.

Hux groans softly and his breath becomes stuttery as he comes. His arms go limp and he collapses facedown against the mattress.

Poe finally takes his dick out, groaning when he wraps a hand around himself, seeing the tip of his cock bump against the curve of Hux’s ass.

Hux moves a little against him, getting more firmly on his knees and Poe can rub his dick against the cleft of his ass, rutting against him.

Afterward, still slumped against him, Poe asks, “are you okay?”

Hux has been quiet and pliant under him. He turns his head and says, “how much do those certificates cost?”


End file.
